First Trip to The Grand Canyon

My first trip to the Grand Canyon was in 1985. I should say my first trip INTO the Grand Canyon was in 1985. I had been to the park and looked over the edge a couple times before that and could not imagine starting off on a trail that led way, way, way down there - and then coming back up. I had done quite a bit of hiking and backpacking, but always in the Colorado mountains where the trails go up and down and meander through forests and follow beautiful streams.
My best friend, Ruth, and I grew up near Denver. By 1985 she had lived in Arizona and I had lived in southwest Colorado for several years. We saw each other twice a year but wanted to do something adventurous - without spouses or children - and decided backpacking to the bottom of the Grand Canyon would be perfect. We made camping reservations at the south rim, Indian Gardens (on Bright Angel Trail) and Phantom Ranch (at the bottom), and spent a year planning, exercising, packing and re-packing for our big adventure on August 28, 1985. Sadly, a family death that week made us unpack our packs and rescheduled for the next year. A month later, Ruth called to say her friends had to cancel their Grand Canyon trip in October and we could have their reservations. We were on our way! The only hitch was that the reservations weren't for The South Rim. They were for Havasupai. All we knew of Havasupai was that it was a lot farther and it was an Indian Reservation - not part of the National Park, but it was into the Grand Canyon and her friends assured us we would not be disappointed. We met at the Cameron Trading Post on the Navajo Reservation, and, after hours of now laughable cross country short cuts, we ditched one of our cars in Williams and traveled the last 50 highway miles and 60 dirt miles to Hilltop together. It was midnight and we were road weary and giddy. We were settling into snooze mode in the car when we saw a guy and two girls walk by - fully loaded down with backpacks - heading for the trail head. They explained that they always come at full moon and hike half way down at night, sleep in a side canyon, arrive at the village in the morning, and hike the remaining miles to the campground before the heat of the day. That sounded like an excellent idea to us. By the time we got our packs on and started down the trail (not noticing the small sign at the trail head informing us that camping along the trail is not permitted) the other group was far ahead of us but we could see their flashlights bouncing and hear their laughter echoing off the canyon walls. The first two miles of the trail are steep switchbacks down the sheer rock wall and goes quickly. We were almost to the bottom when we heard some horrible kind of animal howl. We hunkered into the rocks and froze until we heard wild laughter from the other group. The next mile of the trail is straight, open and lonely before you enter the narrow canyon and five more miles to the village. Just as we entered the narrow canyon, we again heard the Coyotes howl goodnight as they turned off into their side canyon. We looked for our own sleeping nook, but, for another mile, the canyon was rocky and narrow and there were no more side canyons. Despite the full moon, it was pitch dark now and spooky quiet. We were sleepy, our packs were heavy, walking in the sand and rocks was tiring, we were stumbling and more than a little uneasy about being alone in the wilderness. Just as we were wishing we had stayed in the car, the canyon widened a bit and offered an inviting sandy spot just big enough for our sleeping bags and we were instantly fast asleep. It was not quite daylight when we felt the ground vibrate and heard what sounded like a freight train. We opened our eyes to see a string of a dozen mules galloping across the rocks toward us. We were zipped tight into our bags so we covered our heads and tried to worm away, but some of the mules actually jumped over us - much to the hysterical delight of the flowing-haired Havasupai horseman who accompanied them. After gathering our wits and climbing out of our bags, we had our first look at the beautiful, mystical, now silent place we found ourselves. The trail was littered with huge red boulders and there were fascinating rock formations topping the high walls that surrounded us. We were not exactly refreshed, but we were famished and anxious to hike to the village.

More to come.

Abba here. I appreciate the nice introduction and think Friday the 13th is a good day to start my blog. Unfortunately, I am computer stupid and have not quite figured it out. So, until next time . . .

Just for clarity, this is not Abba. However, Abba is the kind of woman who tells stories you wouldn't believe, except that, if you know her, you know this stuff really does happen. The world will not be complete if she saves these only for those few people fortunate enough to hear them in person (and generally in an inappropriate setting). Enjoy.